


Shadow On The Sun

by HalfwayToHell



Series: Wayward Sons [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biker AU, Blood Kink, Bottom Sam, Dark Winchesters, Dirty Talk, Drinking, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Smoking, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayToHell/pseuds/HalfwayToHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With each day that John continued to breathe, the youngest Winchester was growing impatient. The only thing that had been on Sam's mind was the fantasy of his father's death by his own hand, but those thoughts are derailed momentarily when John sends the boys to Louisiana on a gun-run. The last time either of the Winchesters had been to Carencro, Louisiana, Sam was sixteen, but since arriving in the town, the memories he had been trying to repress for so long come to light. And Dean is still left in the dark without a paddle or an inkling of his brother's secret suffering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow On The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist:
> 
> Bellstop- Trouble  
> Dorothy- Medicine Man  
> Brown Bird- Danger and Dread  
> The Pretty Reckless- Make Me Wanna Die

                                                                 

* * *

 

Having John back in the Bunker was like the beginning scene of every nightmare Sam had for a whole year after he left. At the time, Sam had hoped that the nightmares would cease when the youngest Winchester sought out his revenge on Pastor Jim and his family, but he quickly realized it was a foolish pipedream.

 

The nightmares never stopped--only subsided.

 

Sometimes he would not jolt awake in the night--a cold sweat beading on his body and chills running through him, his throat constricting as it cut off a scream, trapping it--from a night terror that he had been plagued with for months on end, if he was fortunate.

 

Then there were other times--the times that Sam did not wish to recall--when he would have his familiar nightmares for a few days at a time. He had grown so accustomed to them, that they were almost like a family--a sick, twisted, terror-causing, family.

 

His revenge on Pastor Jim was only a temporary fix.

 

Sam did not believe that killing his father would bring him peace, nor heal any or all of his traumatic scars--much like ending the pastor--but he figured he had nothing to lose--other than a rotting disease on his childhood memories.

 

It was the mere fact of _when_.

 

He was never taught the skill of when it was most opportune to murder someone--more specifically his father--but Sam knew he would have to be patient, wait for the time to strike, wait for when it would be _perfect._

 

It was times like these that the youngest Winchester envied his older brother.

 

Dean was patient.

 

He could wait a lifetime if it meant extracting what he wanted; he could stalk, and collect his thoughts and plan his kill without so much as growing impatient. And that is what made the eldest Winchester deadly--his impossible patience yet persistence to quench Michael’s thirst, to drench his blade in warm, fresh blood.

 

The fact of the matter was that the youngest Winchester was nothing like his older brother, so in the meantime, Sam would have to “play nice”--as much as he could muster, which happened to be quite miniscule.

 

Early morning dew collected on the grass and trees outside as the Winchester boys were loading up their bikes. Sam knelt beside Jess, tugging at the leather straps that were wound around the wool blankets, checking to be sure they were secure. The last thing either of them needed was to be riding down the highway and a gun or two falling off the back of their bikes.

 

The youngest was bitter about the entire situation--and he wasn’t the only one.

 

He could see it in the way that Uncle Bobby and Rufus had shifted uncomfortably at the table, their eyes constantly flicking to the side at each other, as if they were being sure that the other had heard what John was saying.

 

A few nights ago, John proposed to start trading guns with neighboring biker clubs, whom they had been told were at war with the Hounds of Hell. Sam would not have had much of an issue with this idea had the clubs been other Wayward Sons charters, but they were not.

 

John was selling and trading weapons to clubs that were neither long time nor one-hundred percent loyal to the Wayward Sons. Had Uncle Bobby not spoken up against John’s proposal to send the boys up North to an unfamiliar biker club, the Winchesters would be headed to Canada.

 

Instead, their uncle managed to convince John to let the boys run their weapons down to the club in Louisiana, a biker club that was long time business partners and one that both the Winchester boys were more than familiar with: the Four Horsemen.

 

Growing up, Sam and Dean used to ride to Louisiana once a month with John.

 

Neither one of the boys ever asked, but they knew it had something to do with “club business”. It was not until a month after Dean had been released from prison that the eldest Winchester was forced into “club business” while Sam--who was sixteen at the time and still too young to fully be trusted with confidential club meetings--was left to stay behind in a cheap hotel room, awaiting their return.

 

But that was years ago and time was no stranger to change.

 

Sam had heard through the grapevine that the Four Horsemen elected a new President, but he had not and still not the capacity to truly care. The youngest Winchester’s entire being was filled with what seemed like useless information to him and had he the ability to care, the information he held would be seen of importance, but he did not possess a single cell in his body to give any of the useless information any mind.

 

“Now I can only escort you boys to the Kansas state line. After that, our jurisdiction is over and you’re on your own,” Rufus said as he sat atop his motorcycle. “Don’t go gettin’ yourselves killed.”

 

It was still a wonder of amusement to Sam that Rufus--and Uncle Bobby--still felt the need to treat them like they were children riding their motorcycles for the first time. Where the youngest had found an inkling of amusement, the eldest felt bitter annoyance and it was strong enough for Sam to feel it radiating off of his brother like a large, obnoxious WARNING sign.

 

“I think we’re more than capable of getting over the state line on our own,” replied Sam, his tone flat as steel, finding it best to answer quickly before Dean did--knowing all too well that his answer would come with the sharpened edge of a blade.

 

The youngest--for once--was in no mood for his brother’s violence and Sam chalked this phenomenon up to the fact that he had not had a full night’s rest since John had moved back in. It was nearly impossible to sleep peacefully knowing full well that his abuser was under the same roof once more.

 

“As Road Captain, it is his responsibility to escort you and your brother safely to the state line. Let Rufus do his job, Samuel.”

 

 _It’s Sam,_ he snarled to himself, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling at the sound of John’s voice from behind him as the youngest finished up securing the cargo.

 

Obviously able to feel the tension between the two, Uncle Bobby cleared his throat, directing the Winchester boys’ attention onto him. “Benny is expectin’ you two in about a day’s time. You idjits better not be late.”

 

“He’ll get the guns when he gets’em,” Dean spoke up from his seated position on Baby, appearing more than mildly annoyed now. “I could give a rat’s ass about his time limit.”

 

Sam could practically feel John’s eyebrow raise in silent disapproval as he seated himself on Jess, slipping his leather riding gloves on.

 

**† † † † †**

 

It was a three hour ride to the Kansas-Oklahoma state lines and Sam was starting to feel the affects of it.

 

Sitting in that position for so long, it was causing the inner part of his thighs to ache and the spot between his shoulder blades to ache and his arms and legs to ache--his entire body was aching by the time they were crawling near the state lines.

 

Even his hands started to hurt from the constant vibration of the bike against the road. His leather gloves kept his hands from chafing, but it did nothing to stop the rough vibrations running through his hands and fingers.  

 

After they had passed the Kansas-Oklahoma state lines, the Winchester boys did not stop to take a quick rest until Braman, Oklahoma, which had been almost an additional hour since crossing the state lines.

 

Braman was a quaint town with a population barely above two-hundred people. There seemed to be not much to the town, besides a few gas stations and a diner that looked like it did not have a face lift since the early seventies.

 

The moment the boys pulled up to the diner, Sam cut the engine and climbed off of his bike, stretching out his legs and his back. He felt his brother’s hands on his back before he heard Dean speak.

 

“Hard ride, little brother?” The eldest asked as he rubbed the heel of his hand in between Sam’s shoulder blades, working the aching muscles.

 

The touch caused a sigh to fall from the youngest’s lips and he leaned into his brother who was still working at the strained muscles. “More like I haven’t rode for that long of a distance in a while.”

 

The eldest chuckled deep in his throat and nipped at Sam’s ear. “You’ve ridden me for longer and harder than that.”

 

“So now we’re comparing your dick to my bike?” Sam deadpanned and the look that graced his face was nothing short of unamused.

 

“We’re not comparin’ anythin’,” replied Dean, his breath hot against the nape of Sam’s neck, causing a shudder to run through the youngest. “I’m just sayin’ that you can take it.”

 

“I’m still pretty convinced that a cock and a motorcycle are two different things, De.”

 

The eldest stepped around to stand beside his younger brother, wrapping an arm around Sam’s slender hips and pulled him flush against his side. Dean flashed his younger brother a wolfish grin.

 

“Maybe. But I know which one you ride better,” The eldest said with a wink.

 

The inside of Bella’s Diner was an instant ten degrees cooler than outside and the Winchester boys were hit with a cold blast of AC the moment they entered the building.

 

A young girl lifted her eyes from the old school register, a wary smile touching her lips and she tucked the loose strand of dirty blonde hair that had fallen from her messy bun back behind her ear. Her name tag read Charlotte.

 

“Hello, boys. Just the two of you?” The young woman asked, a slight twang in her tone. Dean flashed her a smile in response. She was instantly flustered--a look Sam had grown to know all too well when weak hearted women crossed his brother’s path--and she reached for two menus, her pale eyes never leaving either of the Winchesters. “Follow me.”

 

Charlotte lead the boys to a corner booth in the far back of the diner. Sam and Dean piled into the same side of the booth and the way the waitress cleared her throat meant that they were sitting unnaturally close for her comfort.

 

“Do you boys need me to get you anything to drink while you’re looking at the menus--”

 

“No menus necessary, sweetheart.” Dean raised a hand to stop her from placing them on the table. “Just a burger and fries for me and a salad for my brother,” At this, the waitress shot Sam an almost disturbed glance. “And please tell me you have pie.”

 

Charlotte nodded, at a loss for words for a brief moment. “Uh--yes. Yes. We have cherry, apple, pecan--”

 

“A slice of pecan sounds awesome, darlin’.” The eldest flashed her another grin.

 

Sam watched as the girl scuttle off to the kitchen, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Pretty thing, isn’t she?”

 

“She’s pretty,” acknowledged Dean, draping one of his arms around his brother’s shoulders. “But weak and fragile and--”

 

“Perfect for your blade.”

 

The way Sam had said it, made it sound as if he was discussing something as mundane as the weather or Channel 5 news, but he was not talking about anything of the sort. And it caused the eldest to award Sam with a pleased grin and a mischievous glint in the green of his irises.

 

Dean leaned forward, his breath ghosting across his little brother’s mouth, kaleidoscope and pine gazes locked. He reached up, running a calloused thumb against Sam’s bottom lip. His brother was so close that the youngest could count the nutmeg freckles on the bridge of his brother’s nose and smell the cherry scent from his last cigarette on his breath.

 

“Not here, Sammy,” murmured the eldest. “Not here. They’d know it was us. Don’t you give me that look,” Dean said sternly when Sam started to pout. “I’ll make it up to you, baby boy. You just need to learn to be patient.”

 

 _Patient._ The word was starting to leave a bad taste in the youngest’s mouth.

 

Regardless of how he felt, Sam gave a low grumble of agreement in his throat which rewarded him with a kiss from his older brother.

 

After they had finished their lunch, the Winchesters were back on the road once more.

 

Although Dean had made it very clear that he did not care for the new President’s time frame, the boys still had another seven or eight hours before they’d reach Carencro, Louisiana.

 

The fatigue that the youngest had been feeling was slowly being replaced with a sense of anxiety, knowing all too well that the first and last time Sam had been to Carencro brought back some memories he did not care to remember. But with each mile gained, small snippets of memories here and there would intrude on his conscious and it took a fair amount of concentration for the youngest to lock them away once more.  

 

**† † † † †**

 

Sam had almost forgotten how miserably hot and humid Louisiana could be until they crossed the Texas-Louisiana state lines and found themselves face to face with a biker blockade in the center of the highway. The Winchester boys slowed to a halt in front of the horizontal line and Sam’s fingers brushed against the hilt of Lucifer, the pistol resting against his hip.

 

“You John’s boys?” A man called to them from across the asphalt, his Louisiana accent thick.

 

“That depends,” replied Dean, shifting on his motorcycle and his body leaned in closer on Sam’s side. “You Benny?”

 

The man smiled suddenly, flashing the boys a mouth full of white teeth and he climbed off of his motorcycle. A man on his right accompanied him as they walked to meet the Winchesters, who still sat atop their bikes.

 

As the man came closer, both of them were able to get a better look at him. He was dressed head to toe in leather--which made Sam wonder how he had not killed over from heat exhaustion--and he had scruff on his face, his eyes still covered with a pair of dark riding glasses. The man was built like a bear.

 

The man stopped in front of their bikes, lifting his glasses up to reveal pale blue eyes. “Benny Lafitte,” The President of the Four Horsemen greeted, his hand held out to the eldest Winchester.

 

Dean took his hand, shaking it firmly once. “I’m Dean. This is my brother, Sam.” He flicked his pine eyes briefly in the youngest’s direction when Benny grabbed hold of Sam’s hand, shaking it hard once.

 

“Glad you boys made it in one piece. Been hearin’ about the shit-storm up North and I was wonderin’ if we’d see you come over the state lines.”

 

The eldest flashed Benny a quick smile. “Well here we are--although the entourage was unexpected.”

 

“I protect my investments, darlin’,” Benny said simply, slipping his riding glasses back on. “If you boys will follow me, we’ll be sure to get you where you need to go safe and sound.”

 

As Benny retreated away from them, Sam’s eyes fell on the back of his kutte, where four horses were stitched into the dark brown leather: white for Pestilence, red for War, black for Famine, and the pale horse for Death.

 

The rest of the ride to Carencro left the youngest feeling claustrophobic as they were surrounded three-hundred and sixty degrees by the Four Horsemen, left in the center of the black horde with swamp lands and bayous on either side of the bikers.

 

His brother seemed to be fine, although Sam could hardly tell because Dean had not dared to ride farther than an arm’s length away--meaning that he did not trust the Four Horsemen. Sam did not trust them much either, but a part of him figured that the club was in good standing with the Wayward Sons and John.

 

It had not taken long before the Winchester boys and the Four Horsemen pulled up to a large brick building. PURGATORY flashed in bright red lights above the main entrance of the bar. Several cherries from cigarettes burned brightly in the fading sunlight as a group of men stood outside of the building smoking.

 

Although the outside was made of brick, PURGATORY reminded Sam of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. It wasn’t necessarily the appearance, more or less the atmospheric vibe he was receiving from his seated position on Jess.

 

“Why don’t you boys come inside? We can exchange our cargo and you two can get some rest,” Benny said as he climbed off of his bike.

 

The Winchesters exchanged a long glance before Dean turned his attention onto Benny and smiled. “As long as there’s some whiskey, I’m game.”

 

The man returned his smile. “You and your brother can have all the whiskey and gumbo you want.”

 

After the money and guns had been exchanged, Sam and Dean seated themselves in a far corner of the bar, a bowl of authentic Cajun gumbo in front of each of them, accompanied by two shot glasses and a bottle of Jack.

 

While Dean had been on the phone with John for the past few minutes, the youngest ate his gumbo in silence, his eyes scanning the bar-goers. The stew was a little too spicy for his liking and Sam ended up picking at the gumbo instead of actually eating it. The youngest hadn’t even tried to take a shot of whiskey, knowing full well that alcohol would do nothing to soothe his burning mouth.

 

Benny had only stopped by once since they were in PURGATORY to ask them how the food was and if they needed any more. Sam declined with a shake of his head and Dean had ignored the man--still on the phone with John--giving him his answer based upon his silence.

 

Since they had arrived in Carencro, Sam had been restless. His body and mind could not settle for one moment. He found himself fidgeting and his mind running a thousand miles an hour. Too many memories belonged in this town, plenty of memories he had hoped died a long time ago, but they lived on as if they had a breath and a pulse of their own. All of the youngest’s restlessness was giving him a headache.

 

“I’m going out to smoke,” Sam said and he leaned over, giving his brother a quick kiss on the mouth before he stood and made his way toward the exit.

 

Even near midnight, the air outside was too humid and hot the moment Sam stepped outside. A look of disdain crept across his face as he walked around the side of the building, trying to find some place quiet where he could keep his mind off of the memories that kept coming back. The youngest leaned against the brick wall, a cherry cigarette balanced between his fingers. The sweet scent caused him to close his eyes and he leaned his head back as gray smoke slithered between his parted lips.

 

The bliss around him only lasted for a few moments before his peace was disturbed by a voice.

 

“Mind if I bum a smoke off of you?”

 

Sam opened his eyes and in front of him stood a woman. She was certainly more than a foot shorter than him even with the leather heeled boots she had on and she had a round face that was framed with wavy dark brown hair and she looked up at him with a coy smirk on her red painted lips, giving him an expectant gaze with her equally dark eyes that glimmered almost unnaturally in the dim light.

 

Sam wordlessly handed her a cigarette and even lit it for her. By now, he would have told her to scram, but there was something about her that made him slightly intrigued by her presence.

 

“You ain’t from around here, are you?” The woman asked after a moment, almost daintily blowing cigarette smoke from her red lips.

 

The youngest smiled, taking another drag of his own cigarette. “I take it you aren’t either. Given your accent.”

 

“Brains and beauty,” praised the woman. “Most certainly something desperately needed around this mosquito infested hell.” She paused for a moment, her dark eyes taking in the youngest Winchester and he could almost see the cogs in her head turning. After a little while, her eyes returned to his once more. “Name’s Meg.”

 

“Sam,” He replied curtly, not really interested in small talk.

 

The youngest’s eyes slipped down to the woman’s pale throat and he couldn’t help but imagine how pretty it would look stained red, flesh ripped open and bleeding like a rose by his brother’s blade.

 

Meg misinterpreted Sam’s gaze--although he had not expected her to _really_ know what he was thinking, given the general vicinity of where his eyes currently were--and she stepped closer, her head tilting back to look at him and the smirk curled seductively at the corner of her mouth.

 

Whatever the woman had planned to say, was immediately swallowed by his brother calling for him. Almost immediately, Meg’s entire demeanor changed, an irritable glimmer flickering across her dark eyes for a moment.

 

Then her vixen smile returned once more. “That’s my cue to scurry. It was nice to meet you, Sam. We should definitely do this again sometime.” Meg winked at him before she walked off into the dark, her figure fading from sight.

 

**† † † † †**

 

The hotel that the Winchester boys decided to stay the night in was located on the far edge of Carencro, nearly out of city limits. The dinginess of the place hadn’t bothered either of them, since sleazy hotel stays had been a key component in their childhood.

 

What did bother Sam, was the uncanny resemblance it held to the one hotel in his memories that he wanted desperately to block out. Although, that deemed to be rather difficult with his older brother between his thighs.

 

“I told you I would make it up to you, didn’t I?” The eldest whispered against the curve of Sam’s throat, his teeth grazing against over sensitive flesh.

 

The youngest Winchester’s body was a live wire. Beads of sweat collected underneath the crook of his knees and his hairline, dripping down his temple. The muscles beneath his skin jumped and quivered, shaking from over stimulation. Sam writhed beneath his brother, every fiber of him trembling with arousal.

 

“Dean, please,” whimpered the youngest, his wrists trapped on either side of his head by his brother’s strong hands.

 

Sam arched his hips, trying to relieve the uncomfortable constriction his jeans were giving him by grinding his hips up into his brother’s, the denim suffocating his erection. In response, Dean ground his own hips back down into the youngest’s and their hipbones rubbed hard together causing a burning sensation against Sam’s flesh and it was rough enough to border on painful, but that paled to the anguish the younger Winchester’s body was in. The want he felt for his brother was too strong and it seemed that his older brother was also in the same state of need as a deep groan slipped past the eldest’s lips.

 

“De, please,” Sam tried again, his voice pitching. “Please. I need you.”

 

“I know, Sammy. I know,” came his brother’s murmured reply against his chest, tongue sweeping out to brush against the perky bud of Sam’s nipple, causing a whine to come from the youngest Winchester. “But I haven’t been able to touch you since Dad came back. Not really. Not like this. Not in the way that I want. So you gotta be patient with me. Okay, baby boy?”

 

“Okay,” Sam breathed, his response nearly inaudible. “I’ll try.”

 

He could feel Dean’s mouth turn up into a smile against his flesh. The eldest released his brother’s wrists to slide his wandering hands down the side of Sam’s body, causing shivers to crawl down the notches in his spine. Sam kept his hands up by his head where his brother had left them as Dean stripped his little brother of his jeans and his boxers, leaving the youngest Winchester naked and exposed and vulnerable against the hotel sheets.

 

Dean brushed his lips against the top of Sam’s right kneecap, finding his brother’s kaleidoscope gaze in the dark. “Turn over, sweetheart.”

 

Sam quickly obliged, shifting until his hot cheek was buried into the cool fabric of the pillow and his ass propped into the air, his legs spread enough for his brother. His eyes wandered up to the spot in the wooden headboard above him and his veins instantly chilled.

 

Illuminated by the slivers of light from the moon that crept through the curtains, there were small indents in the wood, parts that had been chipped away by nails. Fingernails that happened to belong to the youngest Winchester.

 

Without warning, without so much as a brief pause, the memories that Sam had been suppressing all day broke free like rushing water from a dam, violently pulling him under and drowning him in them.

 

* * *

                                                                      


End file.
